


Dismantle the Sun

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Heartache, Loneliness, M/M, Mind Games, Not Canonical, Suicide, gay but not really, just a fic that I wanted to write because I like angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: ||Please note that this is legit cringe and I will someday beat this into something bearable.||Title's inspiration came from a poem. I don't know who wrote it, but if I did, I would have written who it was.Basically, Arthur dies/misses the Kick and wakes up in the Limbo.It's not supposed to be canonical.Lots of angst, there's some self harm, and there's suicide.Cobb, Mal and Adriadne are not present.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception), implied Arthur/Eames
Kudos: 16





	Dismantle the Sun

The Limbo. Empty, hollow, infinite.

Arthur was alone. 

…

He had washed up on the shores, coughing and spluttering, and _hurting._

He should not have been hurting, and yet, here he was.

…

It had been a while. Exactly how long was hard to say. He had tried to keep track, but he got confused, and so he stopped. 

The pain was always there, throbbing and aching. It gave him no rest.

…

Designing and creating had always been hard for Arthur. He had never known what he wanted to make. 

Staring at the crumbling, desolate city, he made a choice.

He had to try.

…

It was a disaster. 

Arthur cried, something he rarely indulged in. He never let his guard down, back in reality.

Reality seemed a foreign concept, something that would never be possible again.

He slept on concrete floor, surrounded by the lonely, skeletal structures. 

Alone.

…

The next day, he tried again.

Imagined his dream house, fancily furnished.

He almost made it, but he got so hung up on the little details, that he tore it down.

It wasn’t perfect enough.

It was never perfect enough.

…

By this time, his hunger intensified, and so, by necessity, he caused a garden to grow.

It was a quaint garden, but it was a memory.

Of… _then._ That _time._ That happy time. 

It didn’t matter though. 

None of it mattered anymore.

He had food, as the trees were heavily laden with plums and peaches, the herb boxes full of sage and rosemary and thyme, vines of sweet peas creeping up wooden arches. 

...

The gnawing pain had grown stronger.

It had turned him into a mess, and with every failure, he cried himself to sleep, his keening wails of anguish echoing through the city.

It only helped to remind him that he was alone.

Arthur’s only comfort was the fact that he had started the Kick, that he had saved the rest of the team.

…

He was walking on the beach, staring out at the water, when he saw it.

A man, floating not too far from shore.

Arthur ran in, wincing as the cold water splashed onto his torso and pants.

It was a funny thing, that water - it was fresh water. 

Despite this, nothing grew, nothing lived. Aside from his garden, there were no plants. 

There were no animals.

Arthur flipped the man onto his back, starting in shock as he realized that it was Saito.

He pulled Saito to shore, praying for him to live. 

Saito lived.

…

With Saito as his companion, the pain lessened. 

…

“I can’t handle this,” said Saito quietly one day, as they ate breakfast. (Fruit.)

“No?” asked Arthur. “Why?”

“I hate this! The loneliness, the quietness, the stillness!” Saito cried, hurling the peach away from him. “I’m done.”

…

Saito ‘left’ the next day. 

Arthur stayed behind, in the silence, in the stillness.

There were two reasons for this - he had gotten used to bending and warping reality, and was now rather good at it. The other was not as simple.

Saito did not know if Eames had made it or not.

Despite himself, despite longing to see the _real_ world again, he couldn’t help but stay.

Just in case.

…

It was lonely, his existence. 

Eames never came.

…

Arthur became fascinated with the knife.

He had found it in a house, a house that had once been Mal’s and Cobbs.

That didn’t matter though.

Arthur had found it.

It was _his_ now.

There was something about it, something that called to him, sang to him.

Perhaps it was the way it glinted in the sunlight.

Maybe it was the way it beckoned to him. 

He talked to the knife, caressed it. 

He slept with it under his pillow.

It became his sole companion.

When the weight of living became too much, he would run his finger across the blade, watching his blood slip down its side.

It hurt, yes, but in a good way, like a refreshing cup of cold water during a hot day.

…

Arthur knew that he was losing his grip on reality. He talked to the knife like it was a living thing.

 _Reality,_ he thought, and then laughed.

It was such a silly concept. Reality.

…

His heart hurt less now.

It still pained him, but it was bearable.

He never realized that he was calling the knife Eames.

…

Arthur hated sleeping. Well, more specifically, his dreams.

_“Don’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling,” Eames said, chuckling._

_“Bigger? I show you_ bigger, _” snarled Arthur, pinning Eames against the wall._

_Eames laughed. “I love it when you are feisty, pet.”_

_“Not your pet,” said Arthur._

_Grabbing Arthur’s arms, Eames pushed forward, and then whirled around so that Arthur was the one against the wall._

_Then they were kissing, and all Arthur could think about was Eames’s lips against him._

_Soft and warm, tasting slightly of cigarettes… and, for some reason, chocolate._

_It was electrifying._

Arthur jolted awake, blinking away the sleep. This scenario had never happened, not exactly like that.

They had never kissed.

“Dammit!” he shouted, suddenly filled with overwhelming despair and rage.

His eyes filled with tears, and he let himself fall back onto his pillows. 

“Damn you,” he whispered. 

…

Arthur had had enough waiting. It was obvious that Eames was never going to show up.

He walked into the city. Walked to the top of a building.

He looked at what he had created one last time - a paradise of nature amidst the sprawling concrete mess.

He did not know what would happen.

He no longer cared.

Arthur stepped off the building, and fell. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this!  
> xoxo,  
> anon


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